Page 19 of Waiting for Acceptance (Nashville Nights #5)
FITZ
I’m going to rue the day I ever told Lauren Long she was only decent in bed.
The word is already beginning to haunt me, though now’s not exactly the time to tell her she was anything but decent .
My father has all but ruined New York for me, and the month I thought would be spent enjoying being home, wound up being a month-long marketing and image-building trip to hell.
I’m pretty sure Jessica Vanderbilt, and all of her less-than-desirable characteristics, thinks we’re now betrothed or something of the sort.
If my entire life didn’t revolve around the fact that I’m meant to take over my father’s company in a year I would disown them and disappear.
However, doing that would result in me losing everything I have in the process, and though that doesn’t sound half bad most of the time, I wouldn’t be able to do a lot of the good things I can in the position I am in now. Things I’m not willing to give up.
I sit down at my desk, watching as that perfect ass of hers saunters out the front door. I get the idea to follow her and insist I go with her to her showings—to ensure she hasn’t lost her edge in the month I’ve been gone, of course—but before I can move my phone begins going off repeatedly.
Jessica Vanderbilt
New York is missing you already. It was nice having you back for a whole month.
Jessica Vanderbilt
You can deny it all you want, but we make a good team.
I will deny it because it’s impossible to be a good team when your teammate makes you want to lose the ability to hear half an hour into an event because her fake laugh is worse than styrofoam cups rubbing together.
Mother
You and Jessica make a lovely couple. Maybe you can come back more often and you two spend some time together. Outside of networking events of course. smile emoji
Me
Not a couple, mother. A mirage. Fabricated by you and my sperm donor, no less.
Mother
Don’t shut down the idea just because you’re being stubborn, Fitz. Remember what I said about this life being lonely.
Me
Yes, mother. I’m quite familiar with how lonely your home feels even when it’s full of people. I have work to do. We can discuss this later. Or never again. I’m fine with either option.
I take the liberty to ignore Jessica’s texts since I am, in fact, not obligated to her in any way, shape, or form, and run a hand through my hair. It’s about time for a haircut, but did I have a single spare moment to get it done while I was in New York? No. Of course not.
How early is too early to start drinking around here?
I managed to make it until four o’clock at work before peeling out of the parking lot on two wheels in search of a place to get a drink.
I walk into the first bar I see—and while the name is absolutely absurd, it’s a lot quieter than any other bar on the main strip—so I’m willing to take the chance of getting robbed or beaten to death by the group of bikers smoking outside to enjoy a drink in peace.
Their vests read Drengr with a shield and crossed axes on the back and they’re all looking at me like—well, like a guy in a three-piece suit walking into a biker bar.
Only it’s not a biker bar it’s… I have no idea what the fuck it is.
There are photos of bikers, service members—active and retired it looks like—there’s more viking-esque decor on the walls, a neon sign that says Chattahoochies above the bar, pool tables to the right with a jukebox playing “Simple Man” by Lynyrd Skynyrd next to them and…
a fucking dog sitting in a booth to the left.
“What the fuck is this place?” I ask, mostly to myself, sitting down on a barstool.
“Mine.” I look up and see a man scowling at me like he wants to throw me and the barstool I’m sitting on right back out the front door.
“It’s very…” I still don’t even know. It’s fucking cool as shit, and so much different than most of the other bars around here, but I doubt he’ll believe anything I say by the way he’s glaring at me right now.
I clear my throat and unbutton the top of my dress shirt instead.
“Macallan, neat. Please.” He nods and grabs a coaster and a glass, pouring the drink as he studies me.
“You lost?” He chuckles, making me relax a little more in my seat.
“Um, no. I came in here on purpose, believe it or not.”
“How come?” I take a moment to bask in the hushed chatter from people around the bar and the low volume of the music coming from the jukebox. Appreciating the fact that I can actually hear liquid being poured into a glass in this establishment.
“I like the quiet.” He hums his approval, or agreement, I’m not entirely sure which, then puts the bottle back on the shelf.
“You’re not from around here.” It’s a statement, not a question and I laugh.
“What gave me away?” I ask sarcastically. This time when he looks at me a flash of realization comes across his face before his eyebrows raise and he busies himself with moving empty bottles from the place next to me.
“You’re wearing a three-piece suit and look like the tornado from Oz spit you out on the sidewalk.”
I tilt my head in disbelief. “You talk to all of your customers like this?” My brows draw in as I finish off my drink.
“Depends on the day. Typically, yes.” What an unusual person. He smirks and I admire how straightforward he is.
“Outstanding.” I pull a one hundred dollar bill from my wallet, dropping it on the counter and nodding as I go.
His eyes widen and he looks up at me. “Have a good one,” I say, nodding at him.
He nods back at me and keeps working, and on my way out I recognize a familiar giant of a person walking through the front door.
He glares at me then gives me a playful smile before making his way behind the bar, greeting the guy who was just serving me and I inwardly groan.
I guess Lauren’s guard dog just so happens to be friends with the guy who owns the only bar in town I have the desire to visit again. I’m still unsure of his actual relationship to her and it pisses me off that I’m bothered by not knowing.